


your dreams and memories are blurring into one

by AndreaLyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Sleeping Beauty Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Once upon a time, Alex Manes paid the price for his father's acts. The trouble is that life's not a fairytale and Michael's the furthest thing from a prince. He's still willing to be anything he needs to be if it means waking Alex up.





	your dreams and memories are blurring into one

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to InsidiousIntent for the beta! The title comes from Sleepsong by Bastille.

Once upon a time, Alex Manes had the weight of a family legacy weighing on his shoulders – it hangs heavy on him in the form of expectations, judgment, and _enemies_. Those chains have been around his neck long enough that he’d learned to ignore them, but that doesn’t mean that everyone else has forgotten about that legacy, especially not when it had done something _to_ them. 

He’s in the middle of a grocery run at the market downtown when he sees an old man in gray scrubs, seemingly hell-bent on making it to Alex. He doesn’t have a weapon on him, but Alex shifts the paper bags in his arms so he can prepare himself for some form of self-defence, if it comes to that. The age, the outfit, and the frailty all fit one narrative – how he’s escaped, Alex doesn’t know, but he knows that this man must be from yet another one of the facilities they’ve been looking into . 

“Alex Manes?” 

The man spits his name out with derision and so much _hatred_ that Alex knows without a doubt who he is and what he’s here for. He’s not even sure that the revenge isn’t deserved, because he might not have made his father’s choices for him, but he also hadn’t been able to stop them in the last decade. 

“Yes,” he confirms, but reaches a hand out to try and calm the man down. “Whatever you think, let’s take a second and talk about it, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement.”

“Your father is Jesse Manes,” the alien accuses. “Your grandfather is Harlan. Your family kept me locked up, caged, imprisoned,” he says, his eyes shining with tears as the pain radiates on his face. Alex does his best not to crumple, because he has no idea who this man is, but he could be Michael’s family, he could have had a full life, but instead, Alex’s family had stolen that from him.

Breathing in sharply, Alex lets his hand fall as his protests fall away. The alien advances, placing both hands on Alex’s temples. 

“I’m going to make sure you understand what it’s like to be imprisoned.”

What happens next feels like slow motion to Alex. He can hear people around them shouting, even as the groceries in his arms go tumbling to the ground. Oranges tumble from the paper bag to the pavement in his view, the ground horizontal in front of him, all while darkness begins to creep into his vision. He begins to realize that he can’t move his fingers, his toes, then the rest of his body feels like it bleeds away from him. 

He’s paralyzed.

He hears the echo of Sheriff Valenti telling the man to put his hands up, and Alex wants to warn her not to get too close, but the man doesn’t look like he wants to hurt anyone else. The pleased smile on his face as he looks down at Alex tells him all he needs to know.

This isn’t about hurting people.

This is about getting revenge on the Manes family and Alex is the unlucky son, caught in the crossfire. His vision goes completely black while someone shouts to call an ambulance, and he slips into the dark prison that the alien had warned him about, eyes falling shut as his head falls forward under the weight of what’s been done to him.

Into the blackness he treads, with no escape, and no light.

* * *

It’s the talk of Roswell within hours. 

Michael finds out in the middle of a parts run to the hardware store, hearing two housewives gossiping about how Alex Manes had collapsed in the main square, having been rushed to the hospital with no apparent indication about what’s wrong with him.

“Isn’t it awful? That friend of his, Liz Ortecho, is running tests because the doctors can’t find anything.”

“That poor boy. I wonder how his father is coping.”

Michael doesn’t interrupt to tell them that Jesse wouldn’t spit if Alex were on fire, but he drops the parts and heads for the hospital immediately. He knows that rumors around Roswell aren’t exactly fact, but he needs to start somewhere, and he knows that the hospital is the best place to go. 

He starts in the emergency room and gets the details, bribing a couple of EMTs with money he probably can’t afford to waste, but it’s _Alex_. He gets some details, but it doesn’t make any sense. Alex’s heartbeat is steady, there’s nothing physically wrong with him, but he won’t wake up. His next stop is to Alex’s room and either they know that he and Alex are friends or the thunderous look on his face is enough to warn anyone off from trying to keep him out.

Michael stares at him in the hospital bed for almost an hour, thinking that he should bring Isobel in to see if she can get into his head, but there are other answers he can try and get first. Reaching over, he adjusts the blankets so that they’re covering Alex properly, brushing a hand over his hair, before he heads out.

“Call me if anything changes?” he asks the nurse on duty. “Please?” He hands over his number on a scrap of paper, hating how helpless he feels. Maybe it’s best that he hadn’t known about Alex losing his leg until after it happened, because if he’d been there for any of it, he thinks he might have gone crazy, not being able to do anything about it.

Once the nurse agrees, Michael heads up to the top floors of the hospital, to where he knows Valenti has been letting Liz work after the fire had taken out both her lab and her job. 

“What the fuck happened?” Michael demands as soon as he barges into the lab. 

She and Valenti are in the middle of testing samples, but they both clearly look shocked to see him. Michael’s not entirely sure that he blames them, either. Maybe they hadn’t realized how fast word of mouth could travel, maybe they didn’t think that he’d be here, and maybe they’re just surprised that he hadn’t been here sooner.

Scowling, his eyes land on Valenti. “What the fuck are you doing here and not in Alex’s room? Shouldn’t you be running tests and keeping an eye on him?”

“He’s here,” Liz cuts Valenti off, reaching out with an arm to prevent Valenti from meeting Michael’s aggressive stance and tone, “because Alex only went down when someone confronted him in the town square. Someone who happened to look like an escaped elderly inmate.”

Michael thinks he might be stuck in shock, but, “Fuck,” is the only word that comes out.

“Yeah, you don’t even know the half of it,” Valenti scoffs. 

They’ve been finding these prison cells all over the state for months. With Max still in a pod, they’ve been working around the clock to try and find a solution for him. The last thing that they need is another alien mystery, and it’s worse because it’s _Alex_. Michael barely survived losing Max, how the hell is he going to survive if he loses Alex the same way? He’d already almost lost him in those harrowing days after Max, when he and Maria had tried to figure out _easy_ and _fun_ together, finding out all too quickly that nothing worth having should be _easy_.

Perfection is something for fairy tales and movies. 

He has a standing invitation for the Pony for one night of talking and drinking a week, but that’s it. Maria had figured out pretty quickly that he needed a friend more than he needed someone romantically, and she wanted someone who put her first. 

He’d tried to insist that he would, but she’d taken one look at him (and his aura) and told him that he never could, not when Alex Manes still lived and breathed.

Now some alien is trying to take that from him? 

“What happened?” Michael reiterates, slumping into the nearest chair. He doesn’t want to feel this defeated, but he can’t help it. How the hell is he supposed to feel anything else when he keeps losing all the important things in his life?

“My mom arrested the alien, he’s in lockup,” Valenti says. “It’s going to be hell to explain if they ever go to trial, but Liz was able to ask a few questions. Luckily, our prisoner is so pissed off at Jesse Manes that he’s _proud_ of what he did. He wouldn’t shut up about it,” he keeps going, a sickened look on his face.

Liz comes around the table to press a hand to Michael’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. Fuck, Michael hates it already, because no one is ever this kind when they have good news. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wants to cut through the bullshit. 

“Just tell me,” he demands. “Is Alex dead?”

“No!” Liz reacts suddenly. “No, he’s fine. He’s in some kind of coma, but his vitals are fine, he’s okay. From what the alien told us, he’s been put in a sort of genetic lock and we need to find the key. I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s waiting for. We think the alien is biding his time so that he can get to the rest of them.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Michael’s stomach, but he knows what the alien doesn’t.

“His Dad and his brothers.”

Michael knows that Alex’s family would leave him lying in that bed, because to them, this would be Alex’s price paid in the line of duty. It sickens him that he can’t even begin to imagine any of Alex’s family coming here to help him. 

“Or his mother,” Liz points out. “We need someone who’s matched to his genetics enough that some sort of connection can wake him. I’m thinking a blood transfusion if we can get our hands on one of Alex’s relatives,” she admits. “I know the unlikelihood of getting his father or his brothers involved, so I know that it might take a bit longer, but we’re looking for Alex’s mother. Worst case scenario…”

“Worst case scenario,” Michael interrupts, “I punch Jesse Manes in the face so fucking hard that he bleeds and we use that to wake Alex up.”

Liz gives him a disbelieving look, but scoffs when Valenti doesn’t protest and even looks like he's seriously considering it.

“Kyle, seriously?”

“The man shot me,” Valenti deadpans, “and now he’s walking around Roswell because I can’t keep pumping him full of barbiturates. I’m down for that plan, if it comes to that.”

Maybe Michael might just come around to Valenti after all. “So what do I do?” he asks, gesturing to the blood samples that Liz has been studying. “This is an alien issue, put me to work.” He’s already on his feet, rolling his sleeves up, and Liz doesn’t look convinced, but it’s a good thing Michael isn’t ready to take no for an answer today. “I’m serious!” he shouts. “Tell me what to do, I’m not leaving this hospital until Alex is awake or I have something to do that’ll help that happen.”

“Guerin,” Valenti says under his breath. “If we don’t find Alex’s mother…”

“Shut up,” he gets out, through gritted teeth. “Liz,” he says, because he can’t feel helpless.

“Check on your items in the bunker,” she says, even though she doesn’t sound entirely sure about this. “Let’s see if we can figure out if there’s anything that might wake him up without having to call in the Manes family.” Liz gives Michael’s shoulder a last squeeze before she heads back to the microscope to study slides of blood. “Past that, the best thing you can do is to be in that room, talk to him. He might be aware of everything and if he can’t move, being held a prisoner of his own body, he could use some reassurance.”

She goes back to work, as if Michael isn’t even standing there. At least Valenti has the good grace to give him an apologetic look, but he’s more irritated with Valenti than he is Liz. At least she’s looking for a solution. He nods and grabs his keys to head back to the bunker, trying to figure out if she really thinks he’ll find something helpful or whether she’s trying to keep him busy so he doesn’t fixate on what’s happened to Alex. 

Truthfully, he could use the distraction, so he’s not even that upset if it does turn out to be the latter. 

He goes, but he can’t help the feeling that he’s somehow managed to lose both Max and Alex in a matter of months and he can’t do anything about it. 

What’s the point of him if he can’t help his brother or the man he loves? Michael shoves that thought to the back of his mind and resolutely focuses on only doing something that will help, and that means getting to the bunker and then getting back so Alex doesn’t have to spend a minute alone.

* * *

Visiting hours have been over for ages, but Michael had bribed the night nurses with donuts so that he could stay in Alex’s room. He keeps texting Liz every few hours to see if the items from the bunker had been helpful in any of her tests, but there’s been no luck so far. She still can’t find a solution in his blood that counters her original hypothesis, which means that Michael is officially helpless. 

It's been seventy-two hours since Alex went down in the main square and it feels like they’re no closer to a solution. Michael hasn’t left Alex’s side since he got here, counting on Isobel for fresh clothes and acetone, Maria for flasks filled with booze, Liz for news, and weirdly, Valenti for company.

“We think we have a phone number for his Mom,” Valenti’s been saying, sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the bed. Michael’s in his usual seat, his hand interlocked with Alex’s as they sit there, Michael rubbing his thumb gently over the back of Alex’s palm.

If he really is conscious in there, Michael intends to make sure he knows that he’s not alone. He has to hope it’s like the pods and that Alex is in a sort of stasis, unaware that the world is still going, but given the aliens’ desire to see Jesse Manes and his family suffer, he’s not counting on it.

Michael nods, trying to even remember what Mrs. Manes looks like, but she left so early that all he’s seen are a few photographs. He hadn’t been moved back to Roswell yet. “Good,” he says, his voice rough. “Once she’s here, what does Liz need to do?”

“We think blood transfusion,” Valenti replies, staring at Alex’s still form with concern. “Technically, anything that mixes his DNA with hers should do it. She could lick a finger and stick it inside his mouth,” he jokes, even though he must know it’s not funny, and he doesn’t need the unimpressed look from Michael to understand that. “It’s late, I’m tired. Speaking of,” he says, and his concerned gaze lands on Michael.

Fuck, here they go.

“When was the last time you went home and slept?”

Michael deliberately doesn’t answer, seeing as he knows Valenti isn’t going to like it. He’s been there too long, but so has Alex, as far as he’s concerned. “I’ll sleep when he’s awake. Can’t have everyone going down for the count, right?” He’s used to putting on a brave face, so faking an alert one should be child’s play. 

Valenti clearly isn’t buying it. “Well, I’m exhausted and I’m not a stubborn asshole who’s going to burn the candle at both ends. I’m going to get some rest in the on-call room. You’ll call if anything changes?” 

He nods, even though he hasn’t taken his eyes off Alex’s still form.

Valenti lets out one last disappointed sigh, but it’s not like Michael actually gives a shit about how he behaves, so he’ll have to deal with it. Once he’s gone, the only noise in the room is the steady beeping of the machines that are keeping track of Alex’s vitals, a steady sound that hasn’t faltered once, as if deliberately taunting Michael that there’s nothing physically wrong with him.

He got caught in the crossfire of his father’s war against aliens and now he’s paying the price, the same as he did when he enlisted to try and feel stronger and braver. 

“You gotta come back, Alex,” Michael pleads, his chin resting on the hospital bed as he stares at Alex in his peaceful respite. He looks like an angel lying there, his face slack with peace and Michael hates thinking that this is the most peaceful that he’s been in years because of how chaotic their lives are. “I’ve made such a fucking mess of everything since we lost Max, but I can’t lose you on top of that.”

If it were a few months ago, then he could lose himself in a haze of booze and acetone, but he’d gone cold turkey as soon as he’d heard the news about Alex and left for the bunker to get anything that could help. He needs to be alert and present on the off chance he can do something about it. 

“I wish I was a normal guy, you know? I wish that I hadn’t pulled away that night you tried to kiss me, that I wasn’t an alien who rubbed elbows with a fucking serial killer who ruined our chance that night in the trailer,” he exhales. “I wish that when you left and didn’t take me that I’d been smarter. I’m a genius, but I was too stupid to even think about going after you. I didn’t even stop to consider that it might change our lives for the better.”

He presses his forehead to Alex’s hand, which puts his mouth against the hospital bed, and when he speaks, the sheets absorb the sound.

“I love you so much and I’m scared of that,” he admits, the sound muffled even as he lets out a frustrated sobbing sound. “I’m scared because it _hurts_ and I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t know that I wanted to put the work in to make it better, but every bad moment we’ve had is worth the good ones.”

You can only crash land if you’ve been flying and experiencing that glorious high you get from the adrenaline of doing something _impossible_. 

“Something’s always going to be fucking with us, isn’t it? Your family or mine, aliens or Roswell, there’s always going to be something.”

The more important question is whether Michael’s going to let that stand in the way of letting himself love a man and work for a relationship that he’d never really _tried_ for before. The path of least resistance always looked to be the one that hurt least, but it also meant a life without Alex. Now that he’s confronted with that actual reality, Michael realizes that he needs to _do better_.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he lifts his head, resting his cheek against the bed, by Alex’s fingers. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t shift to stroke Michael’s cheek, and it hurts so badly to see him so still. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I tried to take the easiest way out because I was tired of hurting,” he sighs and sits up. “Valenti’s right, as much as it boggles my mind to say it. I should probably find a bed, because I’m just blathering away at you like an idiot.” Rubbing at his face, he thinks about the spare cot in the supply closet, and getting a few minutes of rest.

Exhausted, pained, and missing Alex more than he has in years, Michael leans over him, cupping his cheek so he can stroke Alex’s cheek with his thumb, leaning down to press his lips to Alex’s softly, barely more than a tender echo of a kiss. He slides back up, but then he feels like it’s not enough to give him a chaste peck. 

Michael leans down one last time, his upper lip brushing up against Alex’s, for one last kiss. Without Alex responding, it feels _wrong_ in so many ways, and Michael backs away, feeling like someone’s stabbing him with a rusty knife.

It’s not a goodbye, he tells himself, even though it feels like one. 

Letting out a shuddering exhale, Michael rubs at his cheeks to wipe away his tears, turning to walk away when the machines behind him start going _wild_. His heartrate accelerates, then he hears gasping breaths that make him turn around to see Alex’s eyes open and staring right at him in shock. 

Alex is awake.

_How_ can he be awake?

“I don’t understand,” Michael says, gaping at Alex as the flurry of medical attention comes rushing into the room. Valenti didn’t get very far into his rest by the looks of it, seeing as he nearly shoves Michael aside to get to Alex’s side before he pries the IV out of his arm. “I don’t…”

Liz said that it’s a _genetic_ key and Michael knows that he’s not related to him.

“Alex, stop,” Valenti snaps, prying the oxygen mask off his face. Alex looks half-wild as he grabs at the hospital bed. His prosthetic is gone and Michael can see the way Alex keeps trying to balance himself with no luck, fighting against the sheets and gaping up at Valenti, his gaze shifting to Michael past him. “Stop,” Valenti repeats, and presses a hand to his shoulder. “Deep breaths. You’re in the hospital, you’ve been in a coma, it was…”

“I know exactly what’s been happening,” Alex says, even though his voice is scratchy and rough with disuse. “I’ve been conscious every single moment.” He’s looking directly at Michael when he says it, and Michael wishes that he were brave enough to keep looking back.

He’s not. He falters and stares at his feet, thinking about all the things he’s said over the last three days.

“I’m texting Liz,” Valenti says, when he finally steps away from Alex’s bed, barking a few orders to the nurses on duty to get Alex some drink, some food, and then to leave him alone. “Alex, eat something and then get some sleep. If you’ve been conscious this whole time, you must be exhausted.” Valenti drifts back, digging out his phone to start sending texts. “I’m going to tell Liz to give you a few hours. Do you think you’ll be able to rest?”

Michael chances the risk of lifting his gaze and when he does, he finds that Alex hasn’t looked away. It turns out that one of them is far more devoted to keeping that promise than the other. Alex opens his mouth, looking back to Valenti warily. “Can you make sure someone’s at the door?”

The alien who did this to him is in a jail cell and Michael opens his mouth to promise that he’ll be safe, but what comes out instead is, “I’ll stay. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Alex’s relief is evident in seconds, his shoulders settling, and he gives Michael a long look. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and it feels right for Michael to smile right back at him.

“You’re welcome,” he says, feeling like he’s seventeen again for the way Alex is looking at him. Maybe it’s just the deep relief that he’s _awake_ that Michael can forget about his cowardice and his nerves and all the other shit. 

Valenti squeezes Michael’s shoulder as he passes, but once he and the rest of the medical team leave, Michael sets himself like a tree with deep roots in the doorway, unmoving and unwilling to budge. He can see Alex check in on him from time to time, even open his mouth to say something, but then he apparently thinks better of it. He turns in the hospital bed and falls asleep before they can strike up a conversation, much to Michael’s relief. 

For hours, Michael refuses to let anyone in. Even the medical staff have to prove who they are and he watches them like a hawk as they check his vitals. Michael still doesn’t believe them when they say it seems like Alex is in the clear, because there’s only one person he trusts to give him that confirmation.

She shows up first thing in the morning, her hair in a messy ponytail, her makeup not even on. 

“He’s conscious and out of the coma?” Liz asks, clearly as stunned as Michael and Valenti had been. 

Michael nods and steps aside to let her through, following her so he can drop into the chair beside Alex, reaching for his hand to gently rub his thumb over it, wanting to wake him slow. He deserves that after the shocked awakening he’d had the first time.

Alex turns slowly, but this time his eyes flutter open and he stares at Michael, then Liz. The groan slips out of him, but he’s smiling. “That was the best sleep I’ve had in years,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I dreamt and everything. Much better than a coma where you’re alert and awake for every single moment because of some elaborate revenge plot,” he mutters. 

“Liz is gonna want to run a few tests,” Michael says, because even though she hadn’t said it, she has her bag with her, and he knows her well enough by now to know what’s coming. “You okay with that?”

Alex nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sure,” he agrees, but he chases after Michael’s hand when he tries to pull it away, tugging it back. Who’s he to fight that, if Alex wants to hold on? 

With that, the tests begin. Liz draws blood, then checks all of Alex’s vitals, saving his pulse for last. Obviously, there will be more in-depth tasks that she’ll need to do, but there’s a struck look of awe on her face that Michael feels pretty good about. She might not understand what’s going on, but she’s not upset, so he’s holding out hope that Alex isn’t about to lapse into another coma.

Liz stares at Alex, then Michael, leaning over to take his pulse another time, like the first three weren’t enough. “Everything is normal,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t get it. The alien said that it was a genetic lock and key, that the only person who would be able to wake him up would be someone that he shares a DNA connection with. I thought that meant genes…”

She trails off, her eyes widening, and something must occur to her, because she covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes gleaming like she can’t believe what she just thought of.

“What?” Michael asks warily, rubbing his thumb in those same steady circles over the back of Alex’s hand. His area of expertise lies in the electrical and the mechanical and while he understands a lot about the human body, whatever answer Liz has stumbled onto isn’t immediately apparent. He refuses to drift from Alex’s side, sitting on the bed now that she’s done her tests.

Liz tips her head to the side and lets out a fond laugh, even though it sounds tinged with disbelief. “You’re his genetic key,” she says. “Apart from after his surgery when he would have transfusion blood in him, it’s you,” Liz says. “All the times you’ve kissed him, the times you two have slept together.”

She doesn’t know it, but there’s more. Michael stares at Alex and thinks about the toolshed, of Michael’s blood on Alex’s face, of all that they’ve shared. The grief, the tears shed on one another, and everything in between.

Liz scoffs as she shakes her head. “Talk about an unexpected Prince Charming.”

Michael would’ve rated himself a frog before any kind of prince, but from the way Alex is staring up at him, he feels like maybe he is magical in his own way. He’d brought Alex back from a sleeping spell with a kiss. It’s so awful and cheesy and ridiculous, but it brought Alex back to him, so maybe it’s worth the cliché. 

“Are you okay?” Michael asks Alex, because this is pretty big news. 

“I’m good,” Alex guarantees. “I’ve got an alien genetically coded to me because of all the times we’ve kissed. It’s _weird_, sure, but when have our lives every been normal?” He says it with the added weight of words that Michael had spoken while Alex had been asleep. They matter more now that he knows Alex had heard them.

They mean everything, honestly.

“I’m going to run the blood test,” Liz says, “but I think he’s fine to be discharged.” She tips her head to the side and bends to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Alex.” Her gaze slides up to Michael and it’s like she’s finally understanding a problem that she couldn’t solve before. “Take care of him,” she says, and that sounds like an order.

Michael can’t say ‘always’ because who knows what their futures hold, but he nods, because he knows he needs to do better this time.

If he even gets a chance, that is. 

With Liz’s approval to leave the hospital, they take advantage of it quickly. Michael packs up the things that he’s brought over the last few days, lending Alex a pair of sweatpants and one of his shirts. Alex takes them after Michael helps put the prosthetic back on, giving him a strange look that Michael can’t figure out, but he figures he’s still just unnerved. 

“I’ll wait here,” he says, and lets Alex go to the bathroom to change. 

He's fiddling with his prosthetic when he steps back out, clad in Michael’s clothes. Michael can’t be sure, but he thinks that he catches Alex tipping his head to the side to inhale the smell of the shirt deeply one moment, but he’s too occupied with thoughts of escaping to linger on that (because it’s too good to be true, it really is).

“You wanna go back to the cabin?” Michael checks, trying not to get overprotective and insist that Alex needs to be watched and he should go back to the Airstream with him. 

Alex’s nod is his answer, and his lack of speech as they leave the hospital is weird. He’s not sure what to think about it, either, because he’s worried that maybe he’s done something wrong. The entire ride is spent in silence, but Michael knows better than to push. Or maybe he’s too worried about the conversation to spark one up, so instead he lets the silence wash over them until they arrive. Michael pulls up the loose gravel driveway that leads to the cabin, putting the truck in park and sitting there in the driver’s seat for a moment to see if now’s the time Alex will speak.

It’s not. He stays silent, staring at the cabin, his fingers tangling up in the shirt he’s wearing like he needs something to hold onto (and Michael can’t help noticing that it’s the hand that he’d held almost nonstop for the last few days). 

“I’ll help you inside,” Michael says, before Alex can think about doing something like telling him to go. “Just give me a second, okay?” He’s texting Valenti almost as soon as he’s said the words, letting him know where they are and to give them some privacy and time.

The last thing he needs as he’s figuring out what comes next is Valenti bursting in the front door. Alex heads to the porch slowly as Michael texts back and forth a few times with everyone, then gets out to help with the bags. He gets a reply from Valenti confirming that he’ll give them some time, but also telling him the latest news from the sheriff’s station. The alien who’d done this to Alex has been depowered using Noah’s powder and sent to a normal jail, even though Michael doesn’t feel completely right about that. Then again, he came after Alex, and that sends all thoughts of righteous justice out the window.

“You know,” Alex says when they get inside the cabin. “You could stay.”

“Yeah?” Michael hadn’t wanted to ask, because he’s still not sure what they’re doing. It means something that they’re so connected that he’d been able to rouse him from a coma, but that’s past and he’s still unsure about the future. 

Alex seems less confused about it. “I wouldn’t mind waking up the same way you woke me at the hospital tomorrow,” is what he says, putting it out there bluntly. “Or the day after that, or the one after that. If you’re ready.”

He says it so gently. It places the ball completely in Michael’s court, playing a game that feels like it would kill him to lose. Then again, he’d also laid there in a bed listening to Michael pour out his heart and admit that he’s in love with Alex, but he’s too scared to do anything about it, so it really is his turn to figure it out or fuck it up.

He's so tired of fucking it up, honestly.

“Yeah,” is what he says, with a nod. He tightens his grip on Alex’s bag, feeling nervous and wild and free all at the same time. “Yeah, I could stay.” After a long moment of staring at Alex, his lips, and the hopeful look that he’s radiating, he hears himself telling more truths that he hadn’t expected to let slip out. “I could absolutely kiss you like that from now until the end of time.”

Scared or not, he means it, and it’s a _relief_ to know that maybe he’s ready to take his turn and fight. 

Michael follows Alex inside his home, not feeling very much like a Prince Charming at all, but an invader who’s going to have to earn his keep. He'll roll up his sleeves and do the best he can, if only because he knows what it feels like to lose the chance and he can’t afford that. He can’t live in a world where he loses Alex, and the last week has proven that to him. 

The next morning, Michael kisses Alex awake (even if they don’t share a bed and Michael had crashed on the couch). The morning after that, he repeats it, and soon, Michael’s in the same bed with Alex and barring disaster, he spends every day kissing him awake because he knows what it might be like to live in a world where he doesn’t get to. 

That’s not this world, though. It never will be, if Michael gets his way. 

And so they lived – some days happy, some days raging, and some days broken, but they lived and it’s far better than happily ever after could be, because it’s painful and perfect and ridiculous and _real_ and that’s worth every crash landing, as far as Michael’s concerned.


End file.
